


Heat Index

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-25
Updated: 2002-09-25
Packaged: 2018-11-11 01:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Fraser can't handle Chicago in August.





	Heat Index

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Heat Index

## Heat Index

by Kat

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Alliance own them. Sigh.

Author's Notes: Thanks a lot to Sel for reading through it. You're a star!

Story Notes: 

* * *

It's August. In Chicago. Also known as Hell. Well, for me anyway. Ray also finds it hot but at least has the liberty to turn up to work in sleeveless T-shirts and shorts. Inspector Thatcher still insists on the serge, despite the soaring temperatures, but has decided to let Turnbull and myself off sentry duty. This doesn't surprise me; it would hardly promote a wonderful image of Canada to have her officers collapsing from heat exhaustion. 

It's awful. And it's only the beginning of August, which means it's only going to get hotter before it gets cooler. It's at times like this that I miss my home the worst. The wide, cold expanse of tundra, nothing but silent, clean white as far as the eye can see. The Northern Lights. Here the air is clogged with noise and dust and traffic fumes and I can barely see the stars at night for the orange glow of the streetlights. It makes me homesick. Of course the consulate and the precinct and Ray's apartment are all air-conditioned, so it really shouldn't bother me. But it does. Every time I step out of doors is like opening an oven door and even walking the short distance from the consulate to Ray's car leaves me sweating and uncomfortable. 

Dief has lost all desire to go for walks and frankly, so have I. But neither of us are happy at being trapped indoors like this, hence I've been feeling restless and irritable. Ray says nothing, but I can see him watching me and I know he's concerned. There's nothing he can do - the air conditioning is already on more or less constantly but I still feel like I have a permanent sheen of sweat on my skin and haven't been properly dry in weeks. Though I suppose it may be psychosomatic. 

This last week has been the worst. The temperature climbed a couple of degrees and I regretted my decision to make Ray turn off the air conditioning at night. He would have happily left it on twenty-four hours a day, not caring about the electricity bill as long as I was comfortable, but it's so bad for the environment that I felt guilty having it on when we were both asleep. Also, there is the fact that Ray finds it difficult to sleep in such a cool temperature. We compromised and bought a small fan that usually works, but this past week it seems like it's done nothing but move the warm air around and it brings no real relief. 

I don't know how Ray puts up with me. My appetite has disappeared and everything seems like too much effort, hence it's been his turn to cook almost every night since the truly hot weather started. And I never eat what he cooks; I just sit and push it around my plate, keeping him company at the table. The only reason he continues to cook for me is that he knows my appetite comes back after dark - when night brings some small measure of relief, I'll wake up starving in the small hours. Once, Ray woke at 2 am to find me raiding the fridge, stark naked and revelling in the cool air. "Jesus, Frase," he laughed at me, surprisingly good-natured for having been woken at such an ungodly hour. "It's like living with a pregnant woman." Due to my tiredness, hunger and irritability, this joke rankled more than it was probably meant to. Bad-tempered, I squashed the orange juice carton I'd just emptied and flung it in the bin. "Thank you," I snapped at him. "Next time you're too cold in winter I'll remember that." When I got back into bed, my hunger sated and feeling bad for snarling at him, he rolled over and kissed my forehead penitently. "Sorry about that. I know you're not so good with the heat." "No, I shouldn't have snapped at you. And I like keeping you warm in winter." He chuckled. "I'd kinda guessed..." 

It's true. We began living together in winter - just after the incident with Warfield - and my favourite memories include waking up to the feeling of him burrowed hard into my side. Or myself curled behind him, arms wrapped around him, sharing my body heat. Our cases didn't get very much attention that week. Unsurprisingly. When the choices are either to go out into the cold weather and watch Ray shiver as we get abuse hurled at us by drug dealers and pimps...or stay in a warm bed and have sex with the person you love, then it was very easy to decide. 

It's a good thing we didn't get together in high summer, I'd barely have been able to lay a finger on him. In fact I haven't this past week. Before that the heat wasn't too bad, and I'll admit there was something almost sinfully erotic about being able to taste the sweat so easily from Ray's skin. But lately I've constantly been so hot and uncomfortable that Ray has noticed, and hasn't suggested anything or complained at my lack of interest. Underneath his often-wild exterior, he's a very thoughtful, loving man. 

Tonight, I toss and turn on the sheets and listen to Ray's gentle breathing next to me, trying not to grudge him his sleep. Turning over, I wonder what Dief would say if I offered to shave him. Or if I decided to go bald. I shift over onto my other side, resolutely closing my eyes. I roll onto my back. Onto my front. 

Ray snaps back the sheet and sighs loudly. "That's it." Instantly I feel guilty for having woken him. "I'm sorry-" "This is just stupid, Ben."  
"I know, I'm sorry."  
He strides out into the hallway and flicks on the air conditioning, then comes back to bed. "I'm not going to let you make yourself miserable just because it's better for the environment." I get pushed and pulled around until I'm lying with my head on his chest, his fingers stroking through my hair and pushing it back off my forehead where it's stuck. As the breeze cools the sweat on my back, he speaks again. "I mean, normally hot and sweaty is a good look on you, but this is just nuts." His fingers trail down to touch my face and I wonder anew how he tolerated this week of enforced celibacy, with both of us in such close proximity. Between my eyebrows and along the bridge of my nose gets special attention; Ray's thumb strokes slowly, deliberately along it and I feel my eyes closing despite myself, my entire body relaxing from attention focused on just three square inches of my skin. "What we need is a plan."  
But if Ray goes on to outline his definition of 'a plan' then I don't hear it as, finally, I fall asleep. 

* * *

The following night is exactly the same pattern. Only this time Ray leaves the air conditioning on as we go to bed. Which means him underneath two sheets and me on top of them. The next morning, however, I'm shaken awake just after sunrise. A glance at the clock tells me it's 6:05 am. Ray is sitting astride my stomach, looking wide-awake and devilish. "Finally!" he exclaims. "Come on, pitter patter, time's a-wasting." 

Sense-memory takes over and automatically I push up against him, remembering the last time he sat like this on me - his head back, flushed and moaning and my cock hard inside him. Predictably, I feel myself start to get hard and I shift beneath him, spreading my legs a little as I reach for the hem of his shirt. But incredibly, he bats my hands away - not entirely without reluctance - and swats my ribs. "Get off, you. No time for that. Yet." I blink at him tiredly and wonder if I've been dropped into some parallel universe where Ray is up and about at this time voluntarily and says 'no' to sex. I look at Dief; he's sitting bolt upright by the bed in anticipation, head up and eyes bright, tail not wagging only because he's remembering he's supposed to be an Artic wolf. Oh God, both of them. Suddenly, Ray's face gentles and he leans down to kiss me softly. "Sorry to wake you. You look so peaceful when you're asleep, I didn't want to. But we've got to get going before the day gets too hot." 

Too tired to ask, I let Ray pull me out of bed and fling T-shirt, shorts and underwear at me. He prods me through my morning ablutions, whisking toothbrush, razor and deodorant off me almost before I've finished using them. "Nah, don't bother with a shower, you're only hanging out with me all day." My towel isn't there anyway. A large rucksack - mine, I notice - is hefted onto my shoulders. Ray has to use all his strength to lift a huge cardboard box, on top of which is balanced...his turtle tank? Again, I decide not to ask. It's obvious we're going away somewhere. Everything in the apartment is switched off, double-checked, and then Ray packs the car, installing the assorted animals on the back seat. "Dief, you look after Gonzo, if she isn't in one piece later we're going to have words." I blink, and realise that although I've been sleeping with Ray for over seven months now, it never occurred to me to ask what his pet's called. "Gonzo?"  
"Yeah." He looks sideways at me. "The one out of the Muppets. With the performing chickens. Don't tell me you don't know." "I do have some idea of popular culture, Ray. But Gonzo was male and you called your turtle 'she'..." "Yeah." He grins. "But only 'cause I didn't know the name of the Swedish chef." I give up. A turtle with a sex identity crisis - it seems very Ray somehow. "I suppose there's no chance you're going to tell me where we're going?" "Not one. Go back to sleep." Not taking his gaze off the road, he reaches over and tries to make me lean my head back and close my eyes. I comply, my last coherent thought being I'll never manage to sleep in a car, before I do just that. 

* * *

A bang on the side of the head wakes me. Sitting up, I see we're driving along a rough dirt track. The right front wheel has just gone down a pothole and caused my head to bounce off the window. A glance at my watch tells me it's three hours later. I have no idea where we are. A thought comes to me. "Ray, work!" I can't believe I didn't think of it before. "Hey, you're awake. Don't worry, I cleared it with Thatcher and Welsh." "What did you say?"  
"Told them we were off camping for a while, to chase Dief and eat squirrels." "Ray-"  
"We're off to manage a midget circus."  
"Ray-"  
"Alright, a flea one."  
"Ray-"  
"I'm going to handcuff you to a tree and fuck you 'til we make enough noise that people for five miles radius will know what we're doing." "Ray-" Though the image conjured up by the last one is very appealing... "I left a message on the voicemail. Told them you were suffering from environment-related stress, due to the heat, and you needed to get out of the city. I'm coming too because I have a car and know the way to this place. And because since I met you I haven't taken a single day off. Though I didn't tell them the last bit." "All this before coffee?"  
"Yep. See how much I love you."  
The words, combined with the fact that he arranged all this to do something nice for me, make me ridiculously happy. He has to stamp on the brake suddenly as I lean over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you." He turns to kiss me properly. "You're welcome. And it ain't exactly a hardship for me, getting out here with you." We drive for a few more minutes before stopping. There's nothing to indicate that this is where Ray was looking for, but he turns off the track and parks amongst the trees. I get out of the car and stretch. We're in the middle of a forest; the ground is springy underfoot with moss and leaf compost. The only sounds I can hear are leaves stirring in the breeze and, far off, the faint sound of a stream. The air is fresh and carries that unique scent that I've never found in any of the city parks, the scent of a natural forest. It feels like heaven. 

This time, Ray gets the backpack and the turtle tank, leaving me to heft the box experimentally. It weighs almost twice as much as Dief. "Dear God, Ray! What on earth did you bring?" "About two weeks food supply."  
Two weeks is a long time to take off work. Ray guesses what I'm thinking and explains as we walk. He did some surreptitious research and found that I had two weeks (easily), and so did he (only just). "Are you okay with that box?"  
"Fine." I grunt.  
But he might well ask. My arms hurt and I can feel sweat running down the side of my face. I'm not sure how much food he thinks we're going to get through but it looks like all eventualities are covered. We turn one more corner. 

"Ta-da!" A small wooden cabin in the middle of the forest, barely visible through the tree trunks unless you know what you're looking for. We enter and, thankfully, I set the box down. Ray spreads his arms. "You got your kitchen-living-room-type area, bathroom is through that door, bedroom is through that one." Not bothering to take off the rucksack, I grab him and hug him hard. "It's perfect. Thank you so much." Just before I kiss him, a thought strikes me. "Who did you get the keys from?" "Not telling." His eyes are bright with mischief. I kiss the side of his neck. "Tell me."  
"Nope."  
"I may be forced to torture you."  
"I was kinda counting on that."  
Then I do kiss him, single-mindedly. Laughing, he protests, saying we should unpack first and didn't I want to look around? But he lets me back him into a corner, stealing kisses from him until eventually he stops laughing and it can't really be called stealing any more as his hands reach for my hips to pull me closer. Breathlessly, I break away to pull both our T-shirts off - the rucksack is finally deposited on the floor - then come back for more long, drugging kisses, so much better now with Ray's bare chest against my own. 

I can't tell how much time passes but we're at the stage where I'm thinking about loosening his shorts and sucking him off despite the wide open door next to us. I reach for his fly and he moans something against my mouth...and we both jump at a noise from behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Dief has nosed the lid off the box and is stealthily trying to pull out a packet of hotdogs. "Dief!" Ray snaps. Dief's head jerks up and he looks at me guiltily as Ray laughs. "Deaf, huh? You see, this is why you should have a turtle. They never interrupt you when you're in the middle of something." He kisses me once more, reluctantly tugs his hands out of the back of my shorts and goes to rescue the provisions. Automatically, I catch the rucksack thrown at me. "You unpack the clothes, I'll get the food." 

In the bedroom, I find that Ray has packed mainly shorts and only one or two T-shirts. Evidently he's expecting me to go shirtless most of the time. My swimming trunks are also there, making me hope that there's a lake nearby. I absently unpack some sheets and pillowcases. What? "Ray?" I hold them up questioningly. "The bed's already made up." "Yeah, I know. But given what I want to do with you, then I thought maybe it'd be a good idea to bring our own." I don't have to think very hard about this before I get it, partly helped by the faint pink flush along Ray's cheekbones. It's true that most of our recent laundry loads have consisted of sheets. Wordlessly, I start to remake the bed. It doesn't take long and when I'm finished I stand and enjoy the feel of the breeze coming in through the open window, cooling the sweat on the small of my back. Ray comes to stand behind me, sliding his arms round my waist and kissing the nape of my neck. My head falls forward and absent-mindedly, I ask the question that was on my mind whilst I was making the bed. "Why did you bring your turtle?"  
The kisses stop. "I'm trying to get it on with you and you're thinking about my turtle?" Oh dear. "Sorry, I was just-"  
"No, it's okay." Ray's hands grab my waist and turn me to face him. He's laughing. "Freak. I brought the turtle because it would've been cruel to leave her in the apartment for two weeks with no food or air-conditioning. Okay now?" Oh. Of course. I should have thought of that. "Fine." I kiss him then, long and slowly, loving the feel of his body, the feel of his mouth opening against my own. He tastes of hotdogs; it looks like they didn't escape unopened after all. I pull back. "You fed Dief a hotdog, didn't you?"  
"Just one." He grins unrepentantly then, before I can admonish him, distracts me entirely by skinning out of his shorts and underwear and sprawling across the bed. "Well, aren't you going to come and torture me?" I quickly follow suit and soon we're pressed together, skin to skin, like we haven't been in far too long. Was it really only a week? "This isn't torture. I'll torture you later," I murmur into his ear before I lick a stripe up the side of his neck and kiss him. 

Shifting underneath me, still kissing me, Ray spreads his legs and presses his calves against the backs of my thighs, holding me to him. I rock against him and slide down to suck on his left nipple, loving the way his body arches lazily towards my mouth. I alternate between them, knowing how much he likes this, as do I. The taste of the thin layer of sweat already on his skin, the noises he makes when something feels exceptionally good and so does the slide of his hips rubbing himself against my stomach. "Hey-" He drags my head up and kisses me hard with lips dry from panting. I get nudged over onto my back and Ray shuffles down the bed. Or more accurately, across it since we're lying on it horizontally and not vertically. But then his mouth closes around my penis and suddenly I couldn't care where we are. He elbows my thighs further apart, teasing the head with his tongue and I rub my ankle restlessly along his waist. "Ray..." His only reply is to slide his mouth off me, eliciting a sound perilously close to a whine and then lean up to lick at the wet streak on my stomach. It's his own pre-ejaculate, from where he was rubbing against me earlier. The sight is so erotic that I tip my head back and groan, and then groan again louder as he starts mouthing my testicles. He quickly settles into a rhythm with hand and mouth, and guides my hand down to touch his lips and feel them curved around my penis. I moan his name again, not wanting to come yet, wanting to draw it out for longer and Ray lets go and looks up my body at me. "Want something else."  
It's a statement, not a question. "What?" "Want you to fuck me. Need you to."  
"God, Ray, yes. Yes, anything you want..." Desperately, I reach for him and kiss him again, knowing that if we don't stop this we'll never get to do what he asked but unable to let him go. My hands slip on his back, covered in sweat. It would have annoyed me back in Chicago but out here it feels natural. It feels like Ray during sex. 

Eventually he pulls back, his mouth reddened from kissing. Judging from the tingle on my face, I'd say I've got stubble burn. Ray kneels on the floor and scrabbles through the rucksack, emerging with a small bottle. That's nearly empty. In fact, I'm not sure there's enough for this one time. "Ray-"  
"Hang on." He dives back in, returning to place two full bottles on the nightstand. I blink. "Am I going to be alive after these two weeks?" He laughs, the serious mood broken, and throws a bottle at me. "Proper preparation, Ben." 

However, the serious mood returns very quickly when I press slick fingers inside him and he moans suddenly, loudly into my ear. He feels so tight around me, muscles gripping me hard and I stretch and try to touch his prostate. I get it and he moans again, biting his lip, saying that I feel good, God so fucking good... Reaching back, he grabs my hand and urges a third finger to stroke, press, enter. I try to ignore the hot, sweet ache between my legs and concentrate on him - the line of his throat as his head arches back and the way his hand tightens on my arm every time I stroke across the small nub up inside him. It's the most arousing thing I've ever seen and God, I don't want to wait any longer. "Ray," I speak softly into his ear as he writhes against my hand, "Can I? Are you-?" "It's fine, Ben. You wait any longer it's going to be over." It's been over a week since we did this so I want to go slowly, give him time to adjust. However it's very difficult to hold back when I'm finally easing my way inside him, with that small fear in the back of my mind that's there every time and tells me no, it's too tight, I must be hurting him. I look down at his erection, wilted slightly with penetration, trying not to think too hard about how it feels to be buried inside his body. I mean, I'd like to at least try to show a respectable amount of stamina. Slowly, trying to breathe deeply, I let myself slide out of him and then push in again. And again. "Come on," Ray growls, grabbing my ass and pulling at me, "Don't want slow and nice, I want it fast and hard and dirty." My hips buck despite my good intentions and Ray's head goes back, his eyes closing. "Yeah," he moans. "Like that, but harder." 

That's a word I hear a lot over the next few minutes. 'Harder' and 'God, Ben' and 'there, yeah, right there'. Ray, unlike what I thought, obviously found it very difficult to get through our first week of abstinence since we became lovers. Now, finally, our first time doing this in far too long and I never knew he could be so loud. It's a good thing there aren't any neighbours to disturb. But then, I'm not exactly quiet myself. I stare down at him, sweat running down the sides of my face, trying to memorise the exact way his face is half-turned into the pillow and the way it slightly muffles his cries. My groin is aching, every thrust feels like I'm going to come but I bite my tongue, stopping myself. I want to watch Ray as he comes. I look down at his penis, blood-dark and looking painfully hard, and at the puddle of pre-ejaculate dripped onto his stomach and wish I was double-jointed enough to bend down and taste him. "What're you thinking?" Ray's watching me with half-closed eyes that look all pupil. "Want to taste you."  
"Here."  
He rubs his fingers through the pool on his skin and holds them up to my lips. The salt-bitter tang of his semen flows over my tastebuds and that's enough. I turn my head to suck-bite at the inside of his knee as I shove myself deep - some tiny part of my mind hoping desperately it's not too rough - and shatter apart inside him. Just before my eyes close involuntarily, I see Ray grab his erection and fist it hard, sobbing out my name. When I reach out blindly, covering his hand with my own, I feel hot spurts over my fingers and his muscles clenching around my penis. 

When I open my eyes again, Ray has gone completely limp underneath me. Gently now, I ease myself out of him and drop beside him on the bed. I watch his chest heaving with a sort of detached fascination, wondering if his heart is pounding as hard as my own. "Whatever you're thinking, the answer's yes." He's still breathless but it startles me out of my daydream. "What?"  
"I can feel you thinking. And whatever's in your head, like was it okay, is he still alive, is it my turn to cook dinner, the answer's yes." He still hasn't opened his eyes. I grin. "I see." "Good." Rolling over, Ray slings an arm round my waist and buried his face in my neck, sighing loudly. "God, Benton Fraser, you are so good at that." My face heats and then I hear, more quietly, "I really needed to get fucked." Arousal flickers through me at his words, even though I couldn't do anything now if my life depended on it. "I, ah, I noticed."  
By way of a response it doesn't seem nearly enough but he kisses my shoulder and I know he understands. I stroke his back. He's very relaxed, to the point of being boneless against me. Maybe now would be a good time to ask, if I try casually. "So, who gave you the keys to the cabin?" I can feel him grinning against my neck. "This is just killing you, isn't it?" "Well no, I was just-"  
"Dewey did."  
"Ray-"  
"The traffic department. They've had enough of ticketing people for stopping to stare at you outside the Consulate." My face gets warm again. "Ray-"  
"Turnbull. He told me you needed to get laid and packed us off here." "Ray-" 

It could be a long afternoon. 

**FIN**

* * *

End Heat Index by Kat:

Author and story notes above.


End file.
